


Pieces of Us.

by fearless_seas



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American History RPF
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff, James loves his family very much, Love, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Newborn Children, Post Childbirth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 08:31:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10850268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearless_seas/pseuds/fearless_seas
Summary: James Monroe has never seen anything so beautiful in his life; so why does his wife believe he wanted more?





	Pieces of Us.

**Author's Note:**

> I adore James Monroe and Elizabeth Monroe more than anything in the world. They were that love-at-first-sight type of couple so they're super fluffy.

**Virginia:** December, 1786

____________________

 

          James Monroe had never seen anything more beautiful in his life. There was quiet, solitude and he stepped his way towards the bed, sitting on the other edge of the furniture. His wife’s heavy breathing now subsided and she tossed her head to the side feebly, her gentle chest fluttered up and down in such sanctuary, dried sweat caking the fibers of her black hair down to her skin, framing her porcelain face. _She_ _looks so fragile,_ James mused, pausing, heart hammering in his ribs and he remained on the opposite end, wishing more than anything to touch his wife; a deep pang vibrated through his veins--she looked so delicate, what if he broke her?

          He held his shaking breath, hiding his quivering hands in between his thighs and glancing subtly through the corners of his vision at the child in his wife’s arms. Marveling at how miniature their features were, how _she_ already had a mop of wild, raven curls clinging to her soft scalp just like her mother, flurrying across her tiny little skull. James couldn’t move, his mouth dried, swallowing his tongue. He looked down at the floor, biting the chapped flesh of his lip. The child was swaddled in a tiny blanket that stretched across it’s entire body. A child _, their_ child _._ A daughter, _their_ daughter.

          Elizabeth let out a sigh, her cheek digging into the pillow, brushing her nose against it, glancing through half-lidded eyes craving sleep, fraying hairs of hours, and hours of struggle, and agony to produce this. The candle in the corner wavered and James jumped, choking on the large lump that formed in the back of his throat, slinging a protective shimmer to his family on the other end of the bed. _He hadn’t even held her yet._ He hesitated, flowing with anxiety, tugged on the strands fraying off the sleeves of his thin, pasty shirt.

          “James...”, a weak voice began to hum to his side. He glanced over to the familiar vocals of comfort and warmth, love and guidance; entranced by her song. Finding a startling home in those indentations. He was met with her inky, glassed over eyes watching him fondly, flickering incessantly, sleepily fading in and out. James had never seen anything more beautiful in his entire being. It was them and only them in the chaotic universe, Elizabeth and him and their new child; nothing else would matter more to him than that tiny belonging wrapped in a blanket. The crown of the infant rested against his wife’s breast, connecting right at the skin where under the muscle and bone there was a heart, there was a line-- _-there was a life._

          Fear billowed in his ears, hesitant to slip across the covers and sheets to and wrap an arm around Elizabeth's aching back, her perfection glowing so bright they'd sink into each others's bones. He dismissed this apprehension, turning over and gliding onto the pillow. From his new vantage point, glaring point-blank for the first time into his new filling, presence of reality: the tiny little nose twitching against the air. He was unable to find a word to remark. There he was with an arm around his wife’s back, holding her closer and tighter than he’d ever thought possible with another individual; so close her human scent was beginning to shift into his soul. Her delicate wrists held the daughter in, propped up on her neck but she was sleeping solemnly, quietly.

          Communications soon broke the reticence, pushed out of balance, “I’m sorry,” Elizabeth smoothly murmured, rolling her weak neck and aching cranium to raise a disappointed and ashamed glimmer in her husband's direction. Her eyes began to shimmer in the candle light, glistening tears brimming the edges, soaking her eyelids. 

          His heart throbbed, stomach twisting, “Oh no, Eliza…”, his free hand ran up to wipe the pad of his thumb underneath her eyelids and wiping away excess tears that contaminated her face, shed across her flushed cheeks, “What could you possibly be sorry for?”

          Their eye contact never wavered, fathomless, cimmerian abyss gathering against stone like storms, lightening flaring flamboyantly. “I’m sorry I didn’t get what you wanted, James.”, timid she fell away now, off towards the wall, still clinging to the new life in her arms. Ashamed and naked in her transparent sorrows as tears submerged her cheekbone and she bit her bottom lip in an effort to contain them.

          Softly, “What would that be, Eliza?”

          “An heir.”

          It felt like a shock of thunder, he blinked several times to regain control of himself. Longing purred in him and his fingers came up to root through her hair, brushing the strands, pushing the loosening fibers behind the shell of her ear, out of her visage, caressing her silky cheek, gathering the pain with his knuckles. “Eliza, it’s our daughter," _we’ll both never feel strongly for another thing in our whole lives_. There was a smile that came to her cheeks, radiantly beautiful, igniting and glowing in the dim room. “You’re safe, you’re more important to me.”

          James tugged her nearer to his breast, reaching out a hand the swipe across the baby’s brows and it's firmly clenched fists, round head, full flowing cheeks and a gentle, pure, heart shaped bouche. Her mouth parted and her little quivering eyelids opened to the candlelight shimmering in the corner and beating down against the walls in a frantic array of splendid light. For the first time, their daughter's wandering eyes witnessed the world, peering into the atmosphere with ebony orbs that seemed to blend flawlessly into her pupils.

          Simultaneously, both parents exhaled at the sight, their fingers laced, squeezing together. A shaking hand settled on their child’s abdomen, _the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen_ mused in repetition. “As pretty are your mother, aren’t you?” he settled a little laugh, wrapping two fingers around that fist-they were the same size--and swaying it back and forth in the firmament. “Eliza, she has your eyes.”, he tipped down, shutting his vision briefly and planting a kiss on his wife’s forehead, keeping it pressed there as if he hoped to create a mark of tenderness, of devotion.

          “Oh, Eliza, she’d the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”, emotion won, washing down, swimming in his eyes; he did not even attempt to wipe them away, or to hide. Pursing his lips and allowing the complexity of it all take it's dance. "Exquisite, remarkable, amiable..." A palm came up to cup his jaw, gliding along the bone and the thickening stubble from pacing mindlessly in the corridor. Her soft, silky fingers, he bowed into the embrace as his tears flowed onto his skin, slipping onto her pleasure. Sobs attempting to climb up his throat, her hand shifted his face, colliding their lips, salt and sweat. 

          “She needs a name, James.” Eliza pulled the blanket lower on the baby’s chest.

          Relinquishing in the sudden and appropriate change of mood, James rested his forehead on her shoulder, fading in her, placing the baby in the center of them both parents. “How about Eliza?”

          Elizabeth, of course, raised a punctuating eyebrow in question, “You request two Eliza’s in your life?”, she teased.

          “I’m naming her after the most beautiful woman I ever met.”

          It grew to quietude in the room after that, and the baby’s optics soon tossed back into slumber, Elizabeth soon faded, her grip growing weaker around the child and the father, unable to catch an wink of sleep, placed the baby in his own arms, dropping a kiss on her stuttering cheeks. The baby stirred, eyes widening once again and it gurgled, a tiny shriek erupting from its voice-box. “Quiet now, we wouldn’t want to wake your mother…”, he meant it as a scolding joke, but the infant soon fell into silence, sucking on it's cartilage knuckles, staring up at him with her large, expressive and most soulful orbs. He gripped his palm around the back of her head, lifted her up to his heartbeat and to his pulsating veins. 

          “You’ll always be my daughter,” a rush of emotions shifted through him and he hugged his new life closer, “Eliza.”

          The edges of little Eliza’s jr’s mouth quivered--James could swear it was a smile; in the perfect protective circle her parents both created, the father shut his eyes, the daughter's back pressed against his stomach, nose buried in her hair, holding her in his arms, the starlight seemed to whisper,  _no matter what._

**Author's Note:**

> In total, James and Elizabeth Monroe had three children--Eliza Monroe born in 1786, James Spence Monroe born in 1799 and died in 1801, and Maria Hester Monroe born in 1804. James Monroe was for equal woman's rights regarding education and heiressy; he was also very close with his children and loved them very, very much. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it! You can always find me on tumblr @sonofhistory comments and kudos are super, super loved (especially comments!)


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